On Halloween 2024, a photo arrived from him, sent from a party in Brooklyn.
He was dressed as Tinky Winky.
The purple fur swallowed his shoulders and fell straight down, erasing the outline of his body. People stood close behind him, half-cut out of the frame. He was smiling — boyish, crooked at the corner, just the way I first saw it.
I stared at the photo for a while before replying with a heart.
We dated briefly in 2021.
On our first date, we watched a Kurosawa film on Criterion. Halfway through, his head tilted to the side; his breathing slowed into sleep. I stayed still beside him, memorizing the rhythm of his sleep.
It became routine.
He was always somewhere else — on flights, in meetings, at parties.
Weekends were the only time I could see him, and even then, only partially.
Sometimes I would wake to find him still working.
He didn’t notice me. I stood in the doorway for a moment, then went back to bed.
Later, he would collapse into sleep beside me, one arm and one leg draped over my body.
I held my breath, afraid of waking him.
***
The last moment we shared was his birthday.
He lay on the bed and brought out two Lego blind boxes, placing them between us. Before opening them, he asked what I wanted.
I pointed at the red ladybug girl printed on the package — that one. Then I told him he would get the pug costume guy. There was already a Lego pug on his desk. I knew it was the one he wanted least.
We opened the boxes at the same time. I got the ladybug. He got the pug.
“Did you already know?”
He turned the pug over in his hand, then let out a sharp breath.
I shook my head.
“Happy birthday,” I whispered.
I handed him the ladybug and kept the pug. He didn’t need another one.
That was the last time.
***
2024
After Halloween, I came across a Teletubbies blind box series online. One of the figures was a sleeping Tinky Winky. Odds were one in eight.
A few days later, after work, I saw the boxes stacked beside the register of a small shop in San Francisco.
I picked one without thinking.
Outside, the street was quiet.
I tore the box open.
Inside was the sleeping Tinky Winky.
A photo was sent to him. Hours passed before the reply came:
“That’s me,” he wrote. “You always get what you want.”
I didn’t respond.
The message lingered on the screen, then faded.
I placed the sleeping Tinky Winky on my bedside, next to the Lego pug.
Sophie Li is a programmer based in San Francisco. Her work is influenced by cinema, experimental music, drawing, and the cities she has lived in.
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